


Dust-Off

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 14 Inspired [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Callbacks to earlier fic "Spelunking", Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean Post-Michael, Dean dealing with possession (again), Dean in sexy lingerie and heels, Hurt/Comfort, Lingerie, M/M, Mentioned Rimjob, Mouthy Bottom Dean Winchester, Ostrich feathers, Post-Episode 14x10: Nihilism, Post-Possession, Sexy Times, Smutty, Sweet Castiel, Sweet Dean Winchester, Trying to feel in control of himself, pre-episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 00:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17415242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Post 14x10 "Nihilism" & Spiritual Sister to fic "Spelunkers"Michael is gone from Dean for good. After he, Sam, and Cas rid his body of the evil archangel's grace, Dean wants to scrub every trace of the being from him. But even his usual clothes bring him no comfort, as in a way Michael still wore them - used them to convince everyone that Dean was all right. So what can he wear? Maybe the little present he bought for himself a while back that he never had time to try. And what happens when a certain angel catches him in it?





	Dust-Off

**Author's Note:**

> So I already had a fic in mind for "Nihilism", but was inspired after seeing a post on Tumblr. So this first, and I'll get to the other one (hopefully) before the episode airs. Even though probably a thousand fic writers have already beaten me to it lol.
> 
> Also this is a spiritual sequel to "Spelunkers" (I know it doesn't have Sam and Dean going actual cave diving, but like there's no story there for me - trust me, I tried). I suggest reading that first, it will be in the Season 14 Inspired series that this fic is a part of as well. But you don't have to read it to get this one.
> 
> Enjoy!

            Dean stares at the box in his lap, the black cover slightly dusty from disuse. He brushes his fingers across, trailing them ever so slowly along the cursive words at the center: ‘ _Natasha’s_ ’. The box was light at first, but the longer he lets it sit, the heavier it gets. Weighing down with another force to crush his legs. ‘ _I shoulda left it down there_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _I mean… what the hell was I even thinking – buying it in the first place?_ ’

            It was an impulsive purchase. Something he never should have bought but had to have. ‘ _Like the damned vibrator… I blame **that**. Only reason I was there in the first place…_’

            Natasha’s was a little store, hidden in the back corners of Kansas City. He had passed it one day with Sam when they were rushing off to another spelunking tour. They were running late – Sam lost in his sleep and Dean too preoccupied with bacon – but it still left a heavy impression on the elder brother. The soft curves of the lettering just like on the box, the almost antique looking storefront, and especially the beautifully decorated mannequins. He committed every little detail to memory before they turned the corner, filing it away for – what, he didn’t know.

            Until later on in the day, when he found himself back there.

            “You sure you don’t want any dinner?” Sam asked, halfway out the door of their motel room.

            Dean didn’t look up. He was studying Google Maps, weighing the options of travelling by car or by foot. “Nah, I think I might take a quick walk, grab something from the vending machines.”

            “If you say so…”

            He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there before someone cleared their throat. A mature woman, with creases all along her face, peered up at him from behind her wide glasses. There was measuring tape draped across her neck, and a bobby pin or two messily shoved into her grey hair. “You know,” she said, “I was supposed to have closed five minutes ago.” She had a very noticeable accent, Eastern European if Dean was guessing.

            “Sorry, I – uh…”

            “You want to come in.”

            She spun on her heel, back into the store. Dean followed, eyes bouncing around the moment he passed under the lilting chime. There wasn’t much room to move, an explosion of colorful fabrics either hung from metal rods or laid piled on wooden displays. There was a huge desk off to the right where a sewing machine sat on one of the ends. In the back, Dean counted five different dressing rooms, each hidden by black curtains.

            “So,” the woman – ‘ _Natasha, if the store is anything to go by’_ – continued, “what brings a man like you here?”

            “Is it… not obvious?”

            She paused, taking another long look at him. “Nothing is ever what it seems. It wouldn’t be right to assume _anything_. So… why am I keeping my store open?”

            He didn’t have an answer. ‘ _I mean, I do_ ,’ he thought, ‘ _But should I…_ ’ Thinking fast, he said the first lie that popped into his mind. “I’m here for a friend!”

            “…You are?”

            “Yes,” he nodded, one hand absently reaching out towards some of her merchandise. He ran his finger across the satin. “They – um… needed a few things, but were kinda busy… and we aren’t here for long so I – I uh… offered to go and –“ he cleared his throat, “to go and get it…”

            Natasha stayed silent for a long time. With each passing second, Dean felt himself shrink further and further into himself. By the time she spoke, he was the littlest doll in the nesting set.

            “So,” she said, “your _friend_. Do they have a size?”

            “Well – uh… about that?”

            “Do you … _not_ _know_?”

            He flushed red. “…No.”

            “Would you say your friend’s measurements are like your own?”

            She smirked at him, then. It wasn’t cruel or judgmental. Instead, her face had softened, and Natasha offered him a way in. She opened shell after shell to find Dean, and give him a hand. He relaxed, smiling back at her. “Yeah, I’d say we’re the _same_ there.”

            “Very well,” she said, pulling at the tape, “let’s get you all sorted out. I’m pretty sure we’ll have something for your friend here.”

            In the time he was remembering that story, he had removed the box’s lid. Peeling back the wax paper, Dean gawks at his earlier purchase. He lifts the sheer, pink lace by the satin straps, turning it over and over to fully take in the intricate pattern. Dean smiles, just like he did when Natasha showed it to him. “Pink is a good color,” she said, “A _strong_ color. Not many people can pull it off. I’m sure _your friend_ will.”

            He places it next to him on the bed, digging back in for the next piece. As sheer as the bodice he picked out, but even more luxurious with the insane amount of ostrich feathers adhered to the cuffs and the train.

            “Makes you feel _beautiful_ ,” Natasha whispered to him, slipping it over his shoulders, “Do you agree?”

            Dean could barely take his eyes away from himself. “…Yeah.”

            He drapes the robe alongside the lingerie. Thinking he had finished, Dean moves the box away. It rattles, drawing his attention back. Dean digs deeper, uncovering a satin bag as dark as the lining of the box.

            Opening it, he finds two pink heels, with more ostrich feather, and little straps for his ankles. Dean blanches, remembering how Natasha brandished them for him as she was wrapping up his purchases.

            “Are you sure,” she asked, “An outfit like this only works with a complete set. I’d hate for there to be any disappointment.”

            Dean waved her off, laughing awkwardly. “No, no – I… my _friend_ will be so happy with all of this. But, the shoes… it might be too _much_ , all at once. You know?”

            “Has your friend never worn such things before?”

            “Nothing… nothing as good as this,” he confessed. “Maybe the odd piece here or there but… never the full picture. Maybe it would be too real and… y’know, then he’d have to deal with other things once he… once it’s…”

            Natasha laid her hand across his, bringing focus on her. Her eyes were burning as she spoke. “The worst monsters are always the ones that exist here.” She pointed to her head. “But it’s only when we bring them out into the light of day, that we can beat them. Their power comes from dwelling in darkness. Never wait for them to strike, when you can have the first attack.”

            ‘ _Crazy lady,_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _Probably knew more than she realized_.’ He sets the shoes down, pulling at his tie. ‘ _We waited to long… didn’t think – no, no. Remember, it wasn’t **my** fault… it wasn’t **any** of our faults…_’

            Michael’s outfit was too constricting. He’s been free of the archangel’s influence for a short while now, and he still hasn’t changed. Dean couldn’t. There wasn’t anything he wanted to wear that wouldn’t remind him of his controller. Even his plaid shirts left bile burning in the back of his throat, the thought that Michael decorated himself in it to draw suspicion away circling around like a shark.

            Dean needed something new. An outfit fully untouched by Michael. Where he could see his face and know it was himself staring back. Clothes that was completely unexpected for him to wear, but still his choice – that he _wanted_ to wear.

            He bunches the robe in his fists, grounding himself in its touch. ‘ _It can’t be this hard, Dean. We’ll take it slow… but **first** …_’

            Dean tears the tie off and flings it to some corner of the room. The hat follows, as well as the vest. He kicks his shoes off and hurls them at his wall. They fall over each other as he rips his socks off and repeats the process. A button or two fly off from his effort to completely shred the white shirt. And his trousers don’t fall fast enough. ‘ _At least Michael made this somewhat easier_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _Going commando. All right… now that that’s done…_ ’

            The bodice fit just as Natasha said it would. The lace hugged his body in all the right places, and felt as good on his skin as the satin did. Dean ran his fingers up and down his chest for quite some time, lost in the sensation.

            When he finally came back up for air, he moved onto the next step. Dean sits, grabbing one of the shoes and fiddling with it. Unlike the bodice, Dean has never worn anything like these. The strap was hard to work with, his fingers too big and meaty to coordinate. In time, he managed to slip the first shoe on. And then the other went, much smoother than the first.

            He stared down at his feet, toes poking out from behind the feather. They looked worse for wear, and didn’t fit with the illusion the heels evoked. ‘ _Maybe with a little polish… no – get a hold of yourself, Winchester_.’ He turns his thoughts away towards the rest of the shoe. Even though he didn’t give Natasha his size, she guessed correctly. It fit perfectly, and the strap barely dug into his skin.

            Although walking in them was an even worse battle. ‘ _Shit… women do this almost **every** day?_’ He stumbles, leaning on his desk to right himself. ‘ _At least whatever Natasha picked out… the heel isn’t breaking_.’ Dean wobbles back over to his bed, grabbing the last piece of his ensemble: the robe.

            Like the first time he tried it on, it completely encases him. The fabric melds around his arms, fitting perfectly even as he stretches and flexes. Feathers are everywhere as he plays with the sleeves, shaking them to and fro. Dean does the same with the train, shifting back and forth in place, smiling a bit wider with each swing. Having done enough, Dean ties the satin string across his waist in a loose bow, smoothing the robe out.

            ‘ _Done,_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _Now all I need is a…_ ’ Dean looks around, searching for any reflective surface. None exist in his room, so he moves out of it. Into the ensuite bathroom, Dean finds his regular portrait-like mirror.

            He wasn’t the loveliest thing at the moment. His skin pale, the freckles popping out like pebbles scattered across a snowy field. And his green eyes were tinged with red, still puffy from earlier. Dean’s hair was gelled and flat, another reminder of Michael. Frowning, Dean rakes his fingers back-and-forth, mussing it up every which way. When he’s done, the hairs sit out of place. It stands up at ends in areas, and his bangs fall across his forehead in a soft wave.

            Moving on, Dean casts his gaze further down to the real purpose of his reflection. He has to take a step back to fully appreciate the outfit. His hands slowly trail down his body once more, pleasure sparking within. “I sure do look…” ‘ _Handsome? No, that wouldn’t work… Natasha said beautiful but – no, no the word I’m looking for is…_ ’ “Pretty.” Dean smiles. “Yeah… _pretty_.”

            He’s too distracted by his own image to hear the door opening. “Dean? You’ve been in here a long time… I know you might need your space, but…” Cas trails off, footsteps placing him in the center of Dean’s room.

            He whirls around, facing Cas, giving him a better view of what he’s wearing. “Shit,” he says, trying to cover himself, “You – why didn’t you – wasn’t it _locked_?”

            “You, uh… didn’t lock it.”

            “ _Shit_.” He sways into the room, slamming the door shut and _locks_ it. His back is too it, once more facing Cas. His angel barely looked away, following Dean the entire time with his eyes. In the dim lighting of his room, they almost seem to glow. But then Dean blinks, and they’re the same blue as they always were. “You, uh… I can’t make you forget you ever saw any of this… _will you_?”

            “Not likely, no,” he says, “I wouldn’t want to, anyway.”

            “You wouldn’t?” A shadow falls over his face, and the already leaky dam bursts. A flood of bad thoughts washes through him, and he curls in on himself. “Yeah, I guess this does look pretty odd… just, if you’re going to laugh could you _not_ do it here –“

            “What?”

            “It’s okay, I was dumb to ever think –“

            “No no no no, Dean,” Cas rushes to him, hand cupping his face, pulling his face back up. “Dean, look at me. I would _never_ laugh at you. What I – what I meant was that this – you, dressed as you are – is…”

            Dean watches Cas’s face flicker with an internal argument. His touch sears his already heated skin, but he can’t push it away. He wants to hear what Cas says next, whatever it may be a deciding factor in how he acts for the rest of the night.

            Cas licks his lips, scanning Dean once more. “You are… _divine._ ”

            Dean shrugs. “I used _pretty_.”

            “Pretty works, too.”

            “Yeah, but yours makes me all… _tingly_.”

            Cas chuckles. “So,” he says, “is there any reason you’re wearing… _this_?”

            Dean sneaks a quick peek of his own outfit again. “Do I have to have one?”

            “Not particularly, no… you’re allowed to do things you enjoy. You… are enjoying this, are you?”

            “I was… still am, a little differently though.” He shifts his hips, pressing a hand against his growing erection.

            “Then you don’t need a reason. Although… I have to believe there is some inciting incident to _this_ given… earlier events. Isn’t there?” Dean bites his lip, glancing away. Cas doesn’t shy away as easily. “Dean?” he asks again, voice an octave lower than before. It sends a cascade of chills up his body.

            “I… wanted to do something,” he explains, “out of the ordinary… shake things up a bit. Prove to myself that I’m back in control. I don’t think Mi… _he_ would ever put _this_ on.”

            “I’d have to agree.”

            “It helps that I’ve been meaning to wear this for awhile. Except with everything going on…”

            “Things can get put off.” Cas nods, “I understand.” He tilts his head, squinting. “Is there… anything else you might want to do? That only _you_ would?”

            “Well…” Dean smirks, trailing one hand up Cas’s chest while the other still presses up against his thick cock. “There is one thing…”

            “I’d be… happy to help, if you need assistance.”

            “Oh Cas,” Dean laughs, “I’d hate to do it alone. And…”

            “And what?”

            “You’re the only one I’d _want_ to do it with, anyway.” Dean spurs into action. He pushes, guiding Cas back up to his bed. His angel stops, his legs hitting against the frame. Dean tells him to sit with a gentle nudge on his shoulder.

            When Cas settles himself down, Dean steels his nerves. He crawls onto Cas’s lap, arms wrapping around his angel’s neck. The ostrich feathers catch on Cas’s stubble, and he blows one away from his mouth. Dean fights back a grin. “This okay?” he asks.

            “It’s good,” he murmurs, hands settling on Dean’s waist, “…could be better…”

            “Really? How?”

            “We could stop talking…” Cas leans up, then, catching Dean’s lips in a kiss. He doesn’t fight. Dean kisses back with as much fervor. They’re like twin volcanoes, erupting at the same time. A field in a storm where lightning strikes the surface at every second. They’re the sea and the moon, pulling and pushing each other in an eternal dance. It’s everything Dean imagined and still nothing he was prepared for. The more they kiss; the overall sensation of goodness fills his brain. Casting away any lingering traces of Michael. ‘ _Bastard could never get this right…_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _How many times did he try and sell me on those fake Cas’s… I knew the real deal would be worth the wait_.’

            Dean grinds down on Cas’s crotch, delighted to meet a similar hardness. “Someone’s excited,” he whispers into another kiss, scraping against Cas’s scalp.

            “Who wouldn’t be,” Cas says, marking up Dean’s neck in their next breath, “Seeing you in that. I nearly lost it the moment I laid eyes on you.”

            “I’m already yours, Cas,” Dean tells him, groaning as Cas bites into his collarbone, “You don’t have to sweet talk me anymore.”

            “I mean it, Dean, truly.”

            “All right, all right…”

            Cas pauses, pulling away to look at Dean. “Do you not believe me?” He looks somewhat hurt, but behind that, Dean can see another emotion. Hidden within the black whorls of his pupils, he thinks Cas might… _enjoy_ it. That maybe his sarcasm and big mouth thrills him in other ways. This thought makes his outfit even _more_ uncomfortable.

            “Dean,” Cas continues, “I will never tire showering you in compliments. You deserve each and everyone of them.” He tightens his grip on Dean’s waist as he drops his back to the bed. Then, in one swift motion, he flips them.

            “Cas!” Dean yelps, “If you rip this –“

            “I’m being careful,” he says, hovering above, “I’ll always be careful with you… unless you tell me otherwise.”

            “Cas…”

            “Dean,” his angel says, the word dipped in solid gold love, striking every nerve to make Dean’s heart sing. “Dean,” he repeats, “Tell me you want this. Let me know how I can _please_ you.”

            He nearly bursts into tears right there. But he switches course, and instead a giggle bursts out. Dean laughs, knocking his head into Cas’s shoulder. “I’ve always wanted this, Cas,” Dean tells him, “Wanted _you_. I didn’t realize, at first, just _how_ but… some days it’s all I can think about.”

            “You happen to be in my thoughts often, as well.”

            “…I can’t believe we’ve waited so long –“

            “No,” Cas shushes him, “Let’s not do that. We’re here, now. That’s what matters. That and… what you want me to do with you?”

            ‘ ** _With_** _? Man, he knows what to say to push my buttons…_ ’ “Cas, be honest… do you like my mouth?”

            “I do,” Cas says, “It's perfectly shaped, and have great experience. Your tongue…”

            “No, I mean, do you like when I… say things?”

            “What kind of things?”

            “Um… I don’t know? Sarcastic things, naughty things – words only a little _shit_ would say?” There’s barely a slip of blue left in Cas’s eye. “You do, don’t you?”

            “Do I even need to say anything else?”

            “No,” Dean shrugs, “Although… if you _really_ wanna hear me say some _filthy_ things… you could always use _your_ mouth.” His little nod south doesn’t go unnoticed. Cas grins, pressing kisses up against his lace-covered abdomen, taking his time getting to Dean’s crotch. His hands slide over to some clasps, the only thing keeping Dean’s leaking cock from breaking out of the sheer, see-through fabric. Cas snaps them open, pulling the panties down and away. He’s about to fully take Dean into his mouth, until Dean tugs on his hair to stop him. He glances up at him, Dean smirking all the while. “Who said I wanted your mouth _there_?”

            Cas fully loses it as he flips Dean over, growling at the sight of Dean’s ass. “I am going to have so much fun with you…”

            “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Ca – aah, aah, _ass_! Oh, yeah baby – _yeah_! Right _there_!” 

* * *

            Sam, adrift in the Internet, barely notices Cas re-enter the room. When he does, he stands, mouth opening and closing with every passing beat. There are so many questions he wants to ask: “Is Dean okay?” “Why was he in there for so long?” “Why were you?” “What happened to your tie?” Instead, he asks, “Dean?”

            “He’s okay,” Cas tells him, sitting across from where Sam was, “The process… tired him out more than he thought. Said he can barely move from bed, and even if he could he wouldn’t want to.”

            “Well that… does sound like Dean.” Sam collapses back onto his seat. “I was scared, there, after Michael that he might relapse back into somewhere… darker.”

            “Your brother is strong, Sam,” Cas tells him, “ _Stronger_ with the two of us here supporting him, and with Michael cast out far and away.”

            “That’s the truth,” Sam sighs, “I wish the slippery bastard didn’t disappear like that. Would’ve loved to have trapped him and drop kicked him back to his world.”

            “A little tame for my tastes but okay.” Cas points to his open laptop. “Is that what you were doing? Looking for Michael?”

            Sam blushes, barely meeting Cas’s gaze. “Uh… I should have, right? But, that’s not what I –“

            “What were you doing?”

            “It’s… it’s a little silly, but…” He turns it around, showing Cas his open tabs and search bar. “I thought Dean might want to do something to get his mind off of all that happened, a quick day-off, nothing too extreme. And he really seemed to like this spelunking trip we did –“

            “Spelunking? What’s that?”

            “Oh! It’s this activity where people go and explore caves. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it?”

            Cas smirks. “My apologies, but I know of it in a… slightly different tongue.”

            “So you’ve explored caves before?”

            “Only recently. I never had the desire or chance in the first few millennia of my existence.”

            “You should totally come with us then, next time!” Sam smiles, looking back to his screen. “Or maybe we can do something else? Laser tag sounded fun… and so did these escape rooms… do you have any thoughts?”

            Cas taps at his chin, expression stuck as it was. “Well… let’s just say whatever you plan for us…”

            “Yeah?”

            “Make sure it’s low-endurance. I’m afraid Dean doesn’t have a lot of _stamina_ for… _multiple_ rounds.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like? I hope you did, I had a fun time writing this (even though it got pretty heavy some times - and not in a sexy way lol)
> 
> Anyway, drop a kudos, comment, or both!! Laters!


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